


It Takes Two

by areyoukiddingme



Series: Victor Zsasz/Random Ofc's [7]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Dancing, F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Infidelity, Mild Sexual Content, Protectiveness, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoukiddingme/pseuds/areyoukiddingme
Summary: Her breath caught in her throat and he could see her lips part as his eyes locked with her own.“I’m very good at being... discreet. It’s kinda part of my job.”“Why would you want to know how to dance?” She asked him incredulously.“If I’m going to have to come to more parties like this it might come in handy. Besides, ladies like guys who can dance, right?”~After seeing her performance at a party, Zsasz takes up dancing lessons with a young female instructor. As it turns out, they both have something to learn from the other.
Relationships: Victor Zsasz/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Victor Zsasz/Random Ofc's [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569697
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

Zsasz left the the buffet table, shouldering his way through expensive tuxes and low-cut dresses. He hated these things. Falcone insisted on him coming to every one of his gatherings- he was his protégé, after all- so Zsasz had to suffer through the fake smiles and tepid conversation until he had attended long enough to be considered a guest. Only then was he allowed to escape the stuffy mansion crammed with people and go back to his own place where he could be left in peace.

Through the mass of heads, Zsasz caught Falcone’s eye. He nodded at his assassin in approval before continuing his conversation with the diplomat before him. Having been acknowledged by the one person who wanted him there, Zsasz felt that he had fulfilled his obligation and started to push his way through the crowd towards the exit. Then a voice rang out;

“Everyone to the main hall! Marco Ricci’s wife wishes to make a demonstration, so if everyone could come this way...”

This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence among Falcone’s friends. Everyone in Gotham had a talent that they felt had gone undiscovered, and this was especially true of the wealthy elite who could afford to make a fool of themselves without being cast out of society. Every so often at one of these gatherings someone would get up the courage to perform for the others with their ‘talent’. They were often less than remarkable, but people would clap and act amused because it was better than starting a war. Zsasz remembered one particular incident of a man juggling and shuddered.

The crowd started to push in the same direction that Zsasz was heading and he was dragged to the main hall by the swarm. Those in front of him stopped abruptly to form an audience along the walls, leaving an empty space at the centre of the floor. Impatiently, Zsasz started to push again through those that had stopped his progress, still intent on getting to the exit when something made him stop in his tracks.

A man dressed in a black suit was leading someone to the centre of the floor, a woman in a red dress adorned with glassy beads that bounced on her thighs as she walked. She was the wife of some mobster, but her partner- her partner he didn’t recognise. They struck a pose in the centre of the floor and Zsasz continued forcing his way through the crowd, only this time it was to get a better vantage point; he had a feeling he didn’t want to miss this one. 

Slow, discordant music began and the crowd’s muttering hushed. The man lowered his partner elegantly until the ends of her hair brushed the floor and, despite the lack of a spotlight, every eye was drawn to the centre of the room and the couple that started to dance.

They performed a tango, their eyes locked and hands intertwined as they slid across the floor. There was a deliberate sensuality in their routine, from the way they looked at one another to the closeness of their bodies, how her heel slid up his thigh as his hand tightly gripped her waist. Zsasz could feel the shift in the room. Every man’s polite disinterest morphed into a lustful curiosity that caused their nostrils to flare and jaws to tighten as they tried to hide their reactions from their wives. 

Despite Zsasz’s amusement towards all of the doomed men in the room, he quickly discovered that he had a certain weakness towards the woman as well. There was just something about the dress that clung to every one of her curves, the passion in her steps and apparent flexibility as she kicked her leg into the air. The combination of the routine and the chemistry between the two culminated in a dance that felt dirty just to watch.

The music faded and she sunk to her knees, her hand splayed on his chest. As if it could get any worse. An enthusiastic round of applause broke out, louder than any applause he’d ever heard at any one of these events. She rose with a gentle smile on her face, surprised at fact that they were clapping at all. Her partner kissed her hand before lifting it into the air triumphantly, pride filling out his features as the applause continued. The crowd swarmed forward and the two were buried in congratulations. 

Zsasz hung back, watching from afar as she was approached by a man at least twice her age. He was no expert, but Zsasz knew a fake smile when he saw one. The man pulled her away from the adoring crowd and he followed them from an inconspicuous distance until they got to one of the many empty rooms that this mansion had to offer. Zsasz crept up to the door, leaning casually against it as he listened just in case someone happened to walk past.

“... fuck was that? Are you _trying_ to embarrass me?”

“Of course not, I-“

“Because it looked like you were. You had your hands all over that man- that stranger- in front of everyone.”

“Tomas isn’t a stranger.”

“Apparently not.” 

His tone was harsh and there was a heavy pause that Zsasz could feel even through the door. 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to insinuate, but he’s just my dancing instructor.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Do you really think I’d be dancing with that man like that in front of everyone if we were sleeping together?” She protested. “It was an act. We were _acting_.”

A sick slapping sound followed by a muffled cry. Zsasz tightened his arms; violence had its place, and it wasn’t behind closed doors at public events. 

“Don’t use that tone with me. You’re not dancing any more.”

“But Marco, you know how much dancing means to me.”

Her voice was desperate, pleading and Zsasz could hear that she was on the verge of tears.

“You should’ve thought about that before you embarrassed me in front of everyone. Now get out of those rags and if you even think about trying to talk to Tomas-“

The woman left the room so quickly that she didn’t even notice Zsasz standing next to the doorway. Her husband, however, did notice when he emerged a few moments later, looking over Zsasz suspiciously before returning to the main hall where most of the guests were still gathered. 

Zsasz watched his retreating back, waiting until he was sure that the man wasn’t going to double back and continue to abuse his wife before following after her himself. She made her way through the building as if she were familiar with the place, sneaking through the kitchen to get to the emergency exit where the staff took their breaks. When he caught up with her, he pushed through the door to see her sitting on the small steps leading to the floor. She curled into herself when the door opened behind her, making the obvious gesture of wiping away tears with the heel of her hand. 

The one light nailed into the wall above the door cast everything in an orange glow which strengthened as Zsasz closed the door behind him and cut off the light coming from the kitchen. He hesitated before stepping down, dodging her on the bottom step with some nimble footwork. As he hit the ground in front of her she angled her face away, trying to hide her tears. She looked an eternity away from the woman he had seen on the dance floor. The stunning dress now looked tarnished and faded in the dim light, the beads dripping onto the steps, as dark and glittering as fresh blood on the concrete.

“You looked good out there.”

No response. He paced a little, pulling a cigarette from his jacket.

“Why was your husband shouting at you?”

She looked up at him, bewildered. Her eyes were shining and even in the awful lighting he could see that one of her cheeks was slightly red. 

“I could hear him down the hall.” He lied, gesturing with the unlit cigarette. “What does he have against you dancing?” 

She looked to her hands, her eyebrows furrowing as if she were internally debating whether or not to answer honestly.

“He got the wrong idea about me and my partner.”

“He thought you were fucking him?”

She nodded, both of her cheeks now reddening.

“And are you?”

“No, I am not.” She responded, scandalised.

“Could’ve fooled me. You two were sexy.”

She wrung her hands together, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“I can’t be sexy.” She responded quietly.

Zsasz tipped his head; he couldn’t understand how someone could be so oblivious. How had she not noticed the fact that every man had been staring at her has she danced, their jaws dropping to the floor, wishing that he was the one she was dancing with? He quickly lit his cigarette before he made any of these comments that would doubtless make her uncomfortable. 

“So, how long have you been married?” He asked, changing the subject.

“Jesus, I don’t even know who you are.” She responded incredulously. “I’m not going to start giving you my backstory.” 

“Sorry. Victor Zsasz.” 

He leaned down, extending his hand out to her. She took it, curiously examining his face as he bent over to her level. 

“You’re Zsasz? I’ve been hearing a lot about you. You’re the new hotshot assassin, right?”

“You could say that.”

“Everyone wants a piece of you right now. I bet they would all be jealous that you’re talking to me right now instead of them.”

Zsasz backed up and turned on his heel, grimacing. He did not want to hear about how many of those dull people inside wanted to speak to him. 

“And you are?”

“Did you not hear? I’m Miss Ricci, Marco’s wife.”

“I know. The person who introduced you is a dick.”

“You can say that again.” She said, grinning even though she knew she shouldn’t. “I’m Aria.”

Zsasz nodded and came to sit at her side on the steps. He offered her a drag but she declined, instead watching him as he inhaled. The tip of his cigarette glowed and illuminated his pale face in the darkness for the briefest of moments.

“Well then, Aria. Why is dancing so important to you?” 

She regretted not answering the question that had a quantifiable answer. She couldn’t brush him off again unless she wanted to seem rude, but this question was so personal, so introspective. It had been so long since someone had asked her a simple question- a short ‘how are you’ or ‘what are you doing’- that she felt out of practice. 

“I guess... I guess my whole life kinda revolves around him.” She began nervously. “I do his laundry, I make him food, iron his shirts. The only time when I don’t have to think about him is when I’m dancing. I get to forget that he exists at all.”

There was a pause as Zsasz took a thoughtful drag of his cigarette. 

“So you’re really not fucking your dance partner?”

“No!” She asserted, some of that fierceness and passion returning to her face for the first time since she had danced. “My husband’s part of the mob, do you really think I’d risk that? Not only would I be putting my life in danger, I’d also be putting the guy’s too, which isn’t fair.”

“But you’ve considered it?”

“No.”

Her answer was a little too quick to be believed and he smirked as she shifted uncomfortably. 

“Is it just your partner that he has a problem with?”

She shrugged.

“Do you think he’d let you teach me how to dance?”

Her eyes widened and she turned to look at the intimidating man, only to see that he looked completely and utterly serious.

“He’d never allow that.” She flustered.

“Why not?”

“You’re too handsome.”

Zsasz chuckled, rubbing his thumb against his lip. He stretched his long, slender legs out before him and leaned in towards her conspiratorially.

“Why does he have to know?”

Her breath caught in her throat and he could see her lips part as his eyes locked with her own.

“I’m very good at being... discreet. It’s kinda part of my job.”

“Why would you want to know how to dance?” She asked him incredulously.

“If I’m going to have to come to more parties like this it might come in handy. Besides, ladies like guys who can dance, right?”

“I guess.”

“So you up for it?”

She looked to him as if she were surprised that he was actually following through, like she was used to empty promises.

“We couldn’t.”

“Sure we could.” 

Zsasz stubbed out his cigarette determinedly, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. 

“When is he out of the house?” 

“Uh, every Friday night he goes out at like, seven for a few hours with some club he’s a part of.”

“I’ll see you next Friday then.”

He stood and she hurried to rise with him, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“Yeah.” He looked down at her with those dark, sincere eyes and she immediately knew he was telling the truth. “You should probably get out of that dress now before he gets pissed at you again.” 

“Oh. Yeah.” She smiled sadly, brushing her hand against the beaded trim.

He turned and hopped up the stairs, pulling at the door.

“Zsasz.” She called out before he disappeared. “Thank you. For talking with me tonight.”

His hand tightened on the handle and he nodded curtly at her before passing through the door.

* * *

Friday. 

A whole six days had passed and now Aria sat on her couch, waiting. Her heart raced as she chewed her lip. She wasn’t even sure whether her nerves were justified, he had probably forgotten or changed his mind at this point. Zsasz seemed like the type. 

She could hear her husband’s footsteps on the floor above her, only intensifying her anxiety. It was the day after the party when she realised that she had never even given him her address. But, she supposed, that would be part of his job too. Finding people.

She absently lifted her head as her husband kissed her cheek, trying not to appear too distracted as he said his goodbyes. The car started outside and as it rolled out of the driveway the waiting game began. She didn’t have to wait long. Just moments after the car had rounded the corner there was a knock and she rushed to her feet, opening the front door but there was no one there. 

Confused, she simply stood and stared at the empty street until there was another knock. Following the noise led her through the kitchen to the back door where she could see the vague silhouette of a man through the frosted glass. She inhaled as she pulled the door open, flooding the back porch with light. 

She almost didn’t recognise him in the clear lighting. He was pale, paler than the orange light by those concrete steps had suggested, and his eyes were dark, bottomless pits in his skull. He was in a black suit similar to the one she had seen him in before and she wondered whether he was one of those people who wore nothing else, wearing a suit like it was a uniform. She could also spot a bulge beneath his jacket that she presumed was a weapon and wondered whether he always carried one of them with him too. If she hadn’t been expecting him, she imagined that opening the door would have been a much scarier experience.

“I didn’t think you were going to show up.”

“Hello to you too.”

“How’d you get here?”

“I parked a block away and cut through the yard. Less conspicuous.”

“But... our yard backs onto someone else’s.”

“I had to jump a fence.” He said, shrugging.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she struggled to imagine how he had ‘jumped’ the fence. It was at least eight feet tall and she was sure that her husband had installed security on it too. 

“You going to let me in or what?”

She nodded, stepping aside to allow him entry. As he passed her, he looked around the inside of the house and whistled. He approached a crystalline vase sitting in a rather precarious place on the counter, leaning over to flick it. The noise that resonated set her teeth on edge and all she could imagine was the vase toppling and smashing into a million pieces on the tiled floor.

“Fancy.” He hummed.

She hurriedly led him to the sitting room before he could flick any other expensive items of furniture. In the sitting room, she paced before spinning back to look at him. 

“Let’s get one thing straight, I’m not going to sleep with you. What I said at the party was true, I don’t want anyone to get hurt. It’s bad enough that we’re doing this behind my husband’s back.”

Her eyes were wide, but there was determination on her face as she ensured that she wasn’t leading the man on. He fixed her eyes with a steely glare and took a step towards her which she matched, stepping backwards.

“I can take care of myself.” He said in a low voice. 

“I don’t care. No-one’s getting hurt on my behalf.” She pursed her lips and looked to the floor. “When you come here, you come here to dance. If that’s not what you’re looking for then you can leave right now.”

Zsasz would be lying to himself if he said that the end goal here was learning to dance. With the other option firmly off the table, he didn’t see much point in staying. But she was such a far cry from what he had seen on the dance floor, the one who was in control and sexy and fierce. Here, she was just a lonely woman and he could see no harm in spending the night with her, even if it didn’t lead to anything. 

“I’m not leaving.”

The apprehension immediately melted and she looked visibly relieved. His mind flashed back to the sound he’d heard behind the door, her reddened cheek. He wasn’t going to treat her like that.

“I’m afraid I’m not a professional, so I can only teach you as much as my partner taught me. And I might not be any good at teaching.”

“You’ll do fine.” He said, looking at her evenly. 

She swallowed harshly. She had found him attractive from the moment she’d looked up, her eyes still clouded with tears, and couldn’t quite believe that he was talking to her. And now he was in her house and she had refused him sex and he was _still here._

“I just need my shoes.”

She took her blushing face away and up the stairs. While she was gone, Zsasz briefly perused the photos on the mantelpiece. One was a photo of their wedding day- she looked happy, really happy. He wondered how much longer after this photo was taken she remained that way. 

Coming down the stairs, she had her shoes in hand and came to perch on the edge of the sofa. 

“I thought we could do it here? There isn’t much space, but if we move the table there should be enough room.” She said as she fastened her shoes. 

He nodded and went over to the table as she stood. They lifted it after the count of three and lowered it next to the wall. As an afterthought, she shoved the couch back until it hit the wall too. 

“You ever danced before?” She asked, crossing back to the centre of the room. 

“Yeah. Not like- steps though.”

“Tango’s not an easy one to start with.” 

She leaned over, stretching out her legs and looked up at him challengingly. 

“I’m a fast learner.”

“We’ll see.” She said, switching legs. “I would tell you to warm up but you’ve already jumped a eight foot fence.”

The corner of his lip twitched upwards as he watched her stretch. Then she took a position in the centre of the floor and everything about her seemed to shift- her posture elongated and her chin lifted and she was that woman again that everyone had lusted after at the party. 

“We’ll start with the basic steps. It may seem strange but we won’t go through the dance chronologically.” She held up her arms as if holding an invisible partner. “It’s all about quicks and slows- like this, quick, slow, quick quick, slow. Now, come here.”

She beckoned him over and took his hand, leading it up and pulling his other arm around herself. 

“On the upper back.” She corrected him as it drifted lower. “You’re the man so you’ll have to lead me. That should come naturally to you though, shouldn’t it?”

The thought of leading her back onto the sofa, pinning her to the leather and kissing her until she moaned came to mind.

“Yeah.” He said, slightly roughly. 

He pushed the thought away, trying to ground himself by focusing on the steps. They went over them a few times, her correcting him when he went wrong. He had expected it to get harder once they actually started to dance, their faces close and bodies connected. But between him trying to keep his rhythm and her pointing out every time he mis-stepped, it was easy to forget the reason that he had come in the first place.

“Now it’s going to get tricky. You’re going to have to look at my face instead of your feet.”

“What a torture.”

The comment was sarcastic and only mildly flirtatious but it made her jaw tighten.

“Stop it.”

No matter how hot he was, she couldn’t let this happen. She tried to ignore her racing heart every time he took her hand, tried to stop her head from spinning when he loomed over her with his dark eyes and impressively broad shoulders. 

He, on the other hand, was only getting frustrated. He was used to people wilting before him, either from fear or lust, and she wasn’t being affected by either. And not only that, the steps were harder than she had made them look and every time he went wrong she’d correct him, abruptly and harshly. He was determined to never return to this house or this woman again- until it clicked. There was something satisfying about finally getting it right and the look of pride that she gave him almost made it worth it too.

Once he had nailed the steps a few times she went over to the CD player and started some music, the same music she had danced to at the party.

"You have to lead me." She muttered when he hesitated.

Her took her hand and they danced the steps again, nailing every one. Then she broke away from him and stopped the music, turning back to him with bright eyes as she clapped her hands together.

“Well done! You’ve got quite nimble feet.”

The corner of his lip twitched upwards despite himself.

“You need to be light on your feet in my job.”

She smiled and nodded as though he’d just reminded her that he was a librarian instead of a deadly assassin. The fact that he killed people for a living wasn’t lost on her and the next time they joined hands she was wary about getting too close to him, although he couldn’t tell any difference in her demeanour.

In the corner of the room, the clock chimed nine and she whipped around to him, panic on her face. Wordlessly, she hurried to push the sofa back and he joined her in carrying the table to the centre of the room.

"You should leave." She said, spinning back to him. 

He opened his mouth to protest but she was already pushing him towards the back door. Once he had crossed the threshold he turned back to her as she braced her hand against the doorframe. 

"So, will I see you next week?" She asked, scratching her nail against the wood. 

"Sure.”

He wasn't sure himself whether he was lying or not. Her nail stilled on the wood and she smiled; a small, disappointed smile, as if she already knew she was never going to see him again. 

“Until next week, then.”

* * *

It had been as much of a surprise to him as it was to her when he showed up next week. He hadn't decided himself until the last minute- he remembered the fierce, sexy woman on the dance floor and before he knew it he was in his car.

Opening the door to see Zsasz, she looked surprised yet elated as she let him inside. They cleared the sitting room as they had before and went over their steps from last week before continuing with some of the more difficult footwork. This time he worked twice as hard to get the steps faster, knowing that he had already committed to two weeks of this and was probably going to return for several more until they had nailed this dance. It wasn’t just so she would look at him with the same pride she had last week, feel that swell of accomplishment in his chest. Of course it wasn’t. He knew he could kill people and he knew he could do it well, that praise had long since lost its effect; but dancing, dancing was something new he could be good at.

She wasn’t quite as frantic to get him out of the house this time, but still ensured that they had packed up by the stroke of nine. He left when she asked him to, with another promise to return next week.

* * *

The next Friday, after their recap, she made a wary suggestion. Leading him upstairs, she showed him to a bedroom, hurriedly pointing at the mirrored wardrobe before he got any ideas. 

“It helps if you can see yourself.”

She led them to pose in the same way that her dance had started at the party. With delicate hands, she touched his hand to her cheek and led the other around her waist. As she was looking down to adjust her feet, he glanced at their reflection in the mirror and he had a brief out of body experience; he was in this woman’s house, in her bedroom with his arms wrapped around her... and he wasn’t trying to fuck her. He was doing this willingly. And he was going to come back to do it next week too. What the fuck was wrong with him?


	2. Chapter 2

After a month, they had almost settled into a routine. Clearing the floor, practicing their dancing then reluctantly parting by nine.

This week had started the same, Aria teaching him the intricacies of the steps which just looked like elegant tripping to him but required an incredible amount of effort (as he soon discovered) to actually accomplish. It was hard work and after a couple of hours they were both sweating and out of breath. 

Zsasz shrugged off his jacket and flopped onto the sofa, catching his breath. She laughed slightly breathlessly at him before following suit. Pulling off her cardigan, she revealed her arms and his eyes fixed on the bare skin; it was covered in marks, most of them faded patches of green and yellow rather than the vivid purple of a fresh bruise, but there were still a lot of them littering her arms. As she collapsed onto the sofa beside him, he struggled to take his eyes off of them.

"He shouldn't hurt you." 

She looked over, her hands instinctively moving to cover the bruises. 

"It's fine. He only hits me when I fuck up." She said before screwing her face up. “Sorry.”

"Are- are you serious? Did you just apologise to me for swearing?"

"He doesn't like it. He thinks it's unladylike." 

“Fuck him.”

“I know, it’s just not a good habit to get into.” She said, shrugging.

She looked down and pulled her legs beneath herself. His gaze wandered to the photo on the mantelpiece and her eyes followed his as she chewed the inside of her cheek. 

"When did you get married?" 

"Two years ago."

"Why’d you choose him?"

Smiling half-heartedly, she shook her head.

"You think I chose him?"

Zsasz had an unfortunate revelation; he had seen it all in Gotham, shit that had made him stop believing in good a long time ago. But somewhere, deep down, he had still believed that marriage was reserved for those in love, even if that love got lost some years down the line. Another pane of belief was shattered within himself and he rubbed his jaw, trying to recover from the loss. 

“My family was on the brink of war,” she explained when he didn’t question her further, “I came of age and I was introduced to the other family’s son. Luckily, he took a shine to me and we were married within the year.”

“You didn’t have a choice?”

“Well, yes. And no. I mean, it was made very clear to me the damage caused if our families went to war, the people that would die as a result of my selfishness.”

He thought of the relief on her face as she opened the door to see him instead of her husband, the way she flinched if he approached her too quickly, lifted his hand too roughly. His throat constricted and eyes darkened. Leaning over, he picked up the gun that he had discarded at the beginning of the session and idly weighed it in his hands. She watched him warily out of the corner of her eye.

"I could... take care of him for you."

She laughed, the noise high and nervous. Then, looking over to see that he looked deathly serious, her smile dropped and she fiddled with the corner of a cushion.

“No, then there definitely will be a war and all of this would have been a waste. I might as well have never married him in the first place.”

His expression soured but he nodded as he placed the gun back down between them. She looked down at it, her hands tightening around her ankles.

* * *

Over the coming weeks they continued to dance, starting with their lessons before settling on the couch and talking until car headlights lit the living room. Then he’d disappear through the back door, always with the promise of returning next week. Despite the weekly arrangement to see one another every week, it was an uneasy agreement for both parties.

Aria, for example, was finding her partner harder and harder to resist, even with her firm convictions to never cheat on her husband. Through their lessons, she came to know his patience and strength, both attributes nonexistent in her husband and therefore sorely missed in her life.

Even their brief conversations filled a hole in her life as she had lost all of her closest friends after she had married and her social interactions had consisted of dinner parties exclusively. Every single one of her husband’s friends had the remarkable ability to talk of nothing but business, to the point where she worried that they weren’t men at all but robots sent to bore the population of earth to death. Zsasz, however, seemed to take a genuine interest in her and talked of all of the things her husband would never talk about, like his boring associates or herself.

Now, even something as innocuous as him smiling at her caused her heart to race and she was sure that he could feel her elevated heartbeat through their hands as they danced. If he tried anything now she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to resist. 

For Zsasz, on the other hand, he had almost forgotten that the only reason he came here in the first place was to get into her pants. He’d get caught up in the steps, focusing on something other than the adrenaline-filled rush of hunting someone down in a back alley, using their lessons as a chance to unwind but still keep his mind occupied. He’d quietly work until he nailed the steps, earning praise from Aria. It even began to leak into his normal life; once he found himself absently dancing the steps in the kitchen before looking down at his feet, betrayed. 

And more than just dancing, he was enjoying spending time with her and getting to know her as a person, which was unusual. He didn't like people. The only reason he talked to them was to find out the next one he had to kill. But he liked talking to her.

* * *

"So you've really never cheated on him?" 

They had already packed the table away and she had returned her dancing shoes upstairs. They sat on the couch, his jacket draped over the armrest and her arms wrapped around her knees. 

"No."

"Really?"

"Why do you care so much?" She asked, exasperated.

He tipped his head at her, wondering how he should proceed. More often than not their conversations were focused on her, much to her chagrin. He wasn’t about to go into explicit detail on his gory line of work so he’d try to draw as much out of her as possible, despite knowing how much she disliked talking about herself. He wondered if she was feeling generous today as he rested his arm on the back of the sofa, directing his gaze solely at her.

"I want to know whether he was your first."

He watched the skin of her throat catch as she swallowed.

"First... first man I married?"

She looked almost hopefully naïve and he quirked a smile at her.

"Nope."

"Thought not."

"So was he?"

A blush began to rise to her cheeks and she wrapped her arms closer around herself. Then she nodded. His lips pursed and naked eyebrows furrowed.

"Then how do you know if he's any good?"

"Oh, I know he's not any good."

Her blunt answer piqued his attention and caused him to sit forward in his chair slightly.

"Shit. What does he do to you?"

She turned her head to look at the wall. He worried that she was going to clam up and they’d have to start from the beginning again, maybe come at it from a different angle.

"He fucks me and it hurts and then he goes to sleep." She said, surprising him with her answer. "I don't... I don't usually sleep afterwards. It all just feels sort of- unfinished." 

The blush colouring her cheeks deepened and she continued staring resolutely at the wall. Zsasz just couldn’t understand how someone could settle down so young and settle for someone... like him. Someone who leaves bruises on your skin and controls who you spend time with and after all of that, doesn't even satisfy you in bed. 

He lowered his arm from the back of the sofa and slid across it, towards her. She was still adamantly avoiding his gaze so he reached over and touched her knee, her skin sparking where he rested his hand. Even though dancing forced them to be in physical contact frequently, this was the first time outside of the excuse of dancing that he had touched her. Her head twitched towards him and their eyes met. 

"It shouldn't hurt if you do it right." He said in an undertone.

His hand started dragging across her skin and her body froze as she watched his hand travel up her thigh. Then the room glowed with an orange light, her husband’s car headlights illuminating the room and he swore under his breath. He stood and she looked up at him. Her cheeks were still flushed, although he couldn’t tell whether it was from the earlier embarrassment or his advances.

"See you next week." She said.

He nodded, backing away, leaving her alone on the sofa as he escaped out of the back door.

* * *

The next week was slightly stilted, but she powered through the awkwardness in an attempt to have another normal session. They had done steps for so many weeks and she knew Zsasz was getting antsy so she announced that this week they were going to do lifts. 

It was a poor choice.

Not only were their bodies pressed together in new and suggestive ways, she also found out just how strong his arms were. She'd only got tastes when he had been leading her on the dance floor, but now she felt his full force and she imagined that he'd easily be able to pick him up and hold her over his head if he wanted to, something that sparked her imagination in ways she would have never expected.

It was their fifth time practicing the first lift in the routine. It was a simple one- he lifted her from the hip, his arm around her waist and hers around his neck and he span twice before slowly lowering her to the floor. Only, this time he didn't lower her after he span. Looking up, her hands tightened around his neck as he balanced her on his hip. As she looked up at him, everything went still for a moment. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. 

Weeks of tension dissolved with one moment, in one kiss. Her arms tightened around his neck and she closed her eyes. She briefly forgot how much she was weighing on him, forgot the ring burning against her finger as she kissed the man that it wasn’t tied to. Then the panic set back in and she widened her eyes before pushing back from him. She stumbled away, pressing her fingers to her lips while she held her other hand out to him, palm outstretched.

"We can't do this. I'm married." She said breathlessly.

"I know."

"He'll kill us."

"I know." 

Her expression softened and she slowly lowered her arm. He took a step towards her but she lifted it again, holding him at a distance but holding him nonetheless. Looking at him through lowered lashes, her fingers curled into his suit jacket and he could see the conflict raging in her eyes. 

"I don't want you to get hurt." 

He wrapped his own hand around the wrist holding him back and she looked up at him. Only, when she looked up her eyes were fixed solely on his lips and he knew exactly what she wanted to do. 

"No-one's going to get hurt."

"You can't know that." 

"I promise."

She searched his eyes and found nothing but truth, such sincere earnestness in them that it was actually a little uncomfortable to look at.

"I promise that I'm not going to get hurt and I won’t let him hurt you. Just let me kiss you." 

Her arm weakened and she allowed him to get closer, her hand still trapped between them as he circled an arm around her shoulders, the other tipping her chin up. He pressed his lips against hers again and her eyes fluttered closed as she allowed herself this moment, this one kiss. His body was almost completely enveloping her and there was something so warm and safe about being wrapped up in his arms. 

The kiss deepened and she balled her fist into his shirt, wrapping her other hand around the back of his neck. It rapidly turned from something sweet and soft to something darker and more urgent, their hands pulling desperately at the other person as the kiss became a mess of tongue and teeth. 

She felt him roughly guide her body backwards until the back of her knees hit the sofa and she fell backwards. He followed after her, crawling onto her lap, his knees pressing into either side of her hips as he continued kissing her fiercely. Snaking his hand down between their bodies, he lifted her skirt and caressed his hand between her legs. She immediately grabbed his wrist and his hand stilled as he broke the kiss, dark eyes consuming her as he studied her wariness.

He stroked his fingers between her legs and her mouth fell open as she gasped. The grip on his wrist weakened and a smile spread across his face, almost shark-like in its menace, the sight making her stomach drop. She struggled for breath as he continued to massage against her, a finger tracing her clit which caught her off-guard and made her moan, loudly. She quickly snapped her mouth shut but he smothered it with his own before she had time to get embarrassed.

The sound of her moaning sparked a need in himself that he didn’t know he had, the need to bring her as much pleasure as possible, have her splayed beneath him, begging and whining desperately until he gave her exactly what she wanted. His pace quickened until she was a mess beneath him, her hips rolling against his hand as she lost the inhibitions holding her back before.

"I've never been touched like this before." She mumbled breathlessly against his lips.

That simple statement made anger rise in him and he hastily hooked down her underwear as she lifted her hips to help him. Determined to make her feel all of the things she’d never felt before, he pressed his knee against her thigh to keep her legs from closing. His lips travelled across her jaw and slid his hand between her legs again. The corner of his lip quirked upwards when he slipped his finger between her folds and felt how wet she was. He could hear her breath catch in her throat as he sunk his finger inside of her, drinking in her flushed face and fully blown irises. 

"What would your husband think, hm?" He hummed against her ear.

She felt as though her heart was going to burst out from her chest and her fingernails scrabbled along the surface of the couch, trying desperately to find something to cling to as her body twisted with pleasure. He pressed his finger deeper inside of her, eliciting another moan and he nudged her chin with his nose, lifting it to expose her neck. He began pumping his finger inside of her, matching his pace to her jugular pulsing beneath his lips. 

"Cheating on him with some back alley murderer. I don't think he'd be very happy."

He eased another finger inside her and her back arched off of the couch, pushing her chest against his. 

"Victor..." 

Her voice was strained and he continued moving his fingers inside her as she kissed him feverishly. His hand wrapped around her throat and her mouth fell open, eyes wide as his fingers encircled her slim neck. His fingers hooked inside her and her hips bucked against his hand as she came, stars exploding behind her eyes. He kept his fingers inside her as she shuddered against him, her face buried in his shoulder. 

The tension left her body and her head fell backwards onto the sofa. She was flushed and disheveled in the most delicious of ways as she struggled to catch her breath, her arm loosening from around his neck. 

"Fuck." She exhaled.

He grinned, sitting back on his knees while still straddling her hips. He took his fingers and popped them into his mouth, licking them clean, her eyes fixed exclusively on his movements. He moved to lift himself from her lap and she immediately missed the weight and security of his body as he did so.

“You should sort yourself out,” he said, smirking. “Wouldn’t want your husband to catch you looking like this.”

She leaned forward and took his wrist, her eyes wide and confused.

"Don't you want anything?"

"This was for you." 

He bent over and kissed her again, stealing the breath from her lungs. Righting himself, he straightened his suit jacket and picked up his gun, tucking it back into his waistband.

"You can owe me next time." He said, winking at her.

"Thank you, Victor."

She was so sincere that his smile dropped and he leant down, taking her chin in his hand. His grip was firm but not painful as he stared intently into her eyes, her legs pressing together and hands twisting as he studied her face. She watched as a muscle in his mouth twitched and his hand tightened.

”Don’t thank me just yet. Next time I’ll take everything I want from you until you’re screaming my name.”

She let out a burst of nervous laugher, averting her eyes. 

"I hope not."

"I never break a promise.” He assured her and her cheeks coloured. “Next week.”

He dropped his hand from her chin and her face fell with it. 

"Maybe sooner."

Her disappointment turned to agitation and she pulled his his sleeve.

"Don't be reckless."

"That’s my middle name."

* * *

After that point, their 'dancing sessions' became more frequent and less focused on the actual dancing. Instead, they disappeared upstairs and Aria repaid her debt multiple times over in increasingly intense situations. Zsasz visited more frequently, sometimes turning up two or three times a week. He only ever showed up when her husband was away, but she wasn't quite sure how he knew when that was. 

Several weeks into this new routine, she heard the familiar knock and went to the back door. The moment she opened it, his mouth was on hers and she stumbled backwards from his enthusiasm.

"Stop, stop." She giggled pushing at his chest.

He drew back, slightly confused as she'd never refused him before. 

“It’s Friday, remember? We should dance.”

He rolled his eyes and she took his hand, pulling him closer.

”Don’t you want to dance?”

"There's something I'd rather do." He insinuated in a low voice.

“I know, but there’s plenty of time for that later.”

She started to pull him away from the stairs towards the living room and he followed her, feet dragging. They cleared the floor and she played the music, going over the routine they had neglected for weeks. She let the music play out as they repeated sections they got wrong, letting it become background noise as they got to the lifts in the routine.

The last time they did this, they didn’t get very far. She was determined that they would nail at least one lift by the end of it but then she got swept up in his arms again, left breathless by his strength and came very close to calling the end of rehearsals.

Then someone cleared their throat on the other side of the room. 

Both of their heads turned towards the noise and she realised with horror that they weren’t alone. Her husband was standing in the entrance, anger blooming on his face. Zsasz dropped her to the floor and she rushed to the CD player to stop the music.

“Marco, it’s not what it looks like.”

Her words were frantic but he didn’t give her the time for an explanation. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a gun but the moment he levelled it at Zsasz, he already had his own gun trained on him. Seeing the two guns pointed at one another she did something she would have never even considered doing before she met Zsasz. Something impulsive, stupid and reckless- she stood between the guns.

Holding her arms out, she looked between the two men agitatedly. Her husband’s anger was plain on his face, his skin reddening and heavy eyebrows furrowed. Zsasz, however, was the polar opposite. His expression was calm and measured, the hand holding his gun steady as he faced down the man he had cuckolded. Looking between the two men, she had to make a hasty decision of which one she thought would be the most likely one to shoot first and ask questions later. She turned to her husband, hands outstretched as if she were approaching a wild animal.

"Put the gun down, darling. Please."

His eyes were still fixed on Zsasz but the tension in his hand did lessen slightly. Stepping closer, she tentatively wrapped her hand around his gun and pulled it from his grasp. Then she turned back to Zsasz, the gun weighing heavily in her hands as she approached the other man who was still in a defensive position.

"Zsasz." She said warningly.

Her voice broke him out of his staring match with her husband, his eyes softening as he lowered his firearm. She went over and took the gun from his hand too, his eyes burning into her as she backed away and put the weapons on a side table, far out of either of their reach.

”Can we _please_ have a civil conversation instead of pointlessly waving these guns around?”

She returned to her spot between the two men, keeping them separate with her body but unable to stop the murderous looks they were giving over her shoulders.

"Who is he?"

Her husband was speaking to her but still had his eyes fixed on the bald man who tipped his head challengingly as he spoke.

"He's my new dancing partner.” She said, keeping her sentence purposefully vague.

"I told you I didn’t want you to dance any more."

“I told you how much dancing means to me, I couldn't just stop."

 _"_ Like _hell_ you couldn't. _"_

His voice turned harsh and he stepped towards her, his hand raised. She cowered, but before his hand could collide with her Zsasz grabbed it, wrenching it behind his back. He forced him into his knees, yanking at his arm until the joint popped and he cried out in pain.

"If you fucking raise a hand to her again, I swear to god-" He spat, his words filled with venom.

"Victor! Victor, please."

She cried out over his threats and he stopped, dark eyes fixing on hers. Loosening his grip, he stepped backwards and she knelt beside her husband, making hurried apologies until she had repeated herself so many times that the words stopped making sense. Her husband didn’t seem to pay any attention, merely hanging his head.

For a moment, time seemed to slow as his shoulder exploded violently and suddenly. Blood sprayed from the hole blasted into his flesh, spots of it hitting her face as his shoulder was kicked back from the shot. The noise seemed to come a few seconds later, deafening her and she sank back on her knees, numb with shock. She turned back to see Zsasz, gun in his hand and an expression on his face that she hadn’t ever seen before.

"Move." He ordered in a low, dangerous voice.

"Zsasz, what-"

"I said, move."

His voice was hard and cold and it scared the living shit out of her. She scrambled back on the floor, watching him slink like a panther to her husband, all threat and dangerous malice. Zsasz kicked him onto his back, shoving aside the hand that clutched his wounded shoulder and pressed his heel into the hole the bullet made. The cry made her blood run cold but when she looked at Zsasz’s face she saw nothing but steely determination. For a moment, she wondered whether getting so close to him was a good idea.

”I’m not going to let you touch her ever again. You two are finished,do you hear me?" 

He pressed his weight onto his heel until the man cried out an affirmation beneath him.

“And don’t you even _think_ about starting a war. If I hear even a whisper of _any_ member of her family getting hurt I’ll send my people after you and there won’t be enough of you left to bury, do you understand?" 

He twisted his heel and the man whimpered, nodding quickly. Zsasz lifted his foot from him, cleaning the blood staining his sole on the carpet beneath him.

"Come, Aria"

There was still that hardness in his voice and he turned back to her to see her terrified, eyes wide and arms wrapped around herself. His expression softened and he hid his gun in his waistband, approaching her to wrap an arm firmly around her shoulders, his other caressing her cheek. It was hard to believe that moments ago he was mangling someone's wounds when he was touching her so gently. 

"I'm sorry. I'll take you wherever you want to go, just come with me." He pulled away, looking at her earnestly. "You're done with him."

She looked between Zsasz and her husband, still writhing on the floor, and slowly nodded. Taking his hand, she let him lead her out of the front door, looking back just once. She saw her wedding photo on the mantelpiece, the overwhelming reality finally hitting her. It was over.

He took her back to where his car was parked a few blocks away. His grip on her hand didn't falter, but she could still see the fire in his eyes as they walked away. She gripped his hand tighter, ensuring that he wouldn’t turn around and finish the job that he had started. 

They drove through Gotham, winding their way through the wealthy district she lived in before getting to the bridge. 

"Stop." She said, batting on his arm.

He gave her a look. They were in the middle of a main road, but it was late at night and there were hardly any cars around. He shook his head and pulled over, leaving his hazards on as she jumped out of the car and crossed onto the sidewalk. The wind whipped across her hair as she looked over the water, so dark it almost looked black, but it still sparkled under the moonlight. He hesitatingly got out of the car behind her, watching from afar as she struggled to remove the ring from her finger, holding it in her palm for a few moments before tossing it into the black water. 

It disappeared into the tide, along with all of her fears and obligations to her husband. He only caught up with her once she had thrown it, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and kissing her forehead. She turned her head, taking his collar and pulling him down to kiss him properly, his lips warming her entire body against the chilly air.

"Thank you, Victor."

He simply quirked his lip, kissing her again before leading her back into the car.

"Anywhere you want to go?" He asked as they set off again. 

"Can we go back to yours? I don't think I can face my mother right now."

"Sure." He said, suppressing a delighted grin.

"Just for one day."

"One day."

She looked over at him guiltily and her hand found his on the gearbox.

"Maybe two.”


End file.
